


a thrill of hope

by impossiblepluto



Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [8]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: A comforty christmasy sickfic. Sentimental Jack and sick Mac.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552330
Comments: 48
Kudos: 148





	a thrill of hope

It never occurred to him, that his son wouldn’t share his blood. 

An element of masculine pride colored any thoughts of future children when he was a young man. A dumb teenager growing up in testosterone-soaked Texas. He’d have a boy. Carry on the Dalton name. Maybe play football like his old man and score the winning touchdown. Or break his whip cracking records at the rodeo and Jack would exclaim to anyone listening “that’s my boy!” A son to follow in his footsteps.

He joined the military, exchanging one macho, red-blooded living situation for another. The barracks full of man-stench and raucous teasing about virility every time a member of his unit received news of an impending child. He envisioned receiving similar news one day, complete with backslapping jokes about being a stud, siring a son. 

Things changed after Diane and Riley. Never expected to find himself wrapped around the finger of his pre-teen surrogate daughter. Never thought he’d have to fight so hard to get past her defenses, that he’d have to perpetually prove himself to her. The smiles he had to win from her were worth every heartbreak. 

He hadn’t had much exposure to adoption, but he definitely was far from the first in his peers that found themselves raising a child that wasn’t biologically his. But he loved her like she was.

It made him wonder if there was a young Dalton out there being raised by another man. There had been several opportunities. 

Even as he contemplated meeting his first son as a young child instead of an infant in a hospital nursery, he still never lost the idea of his son being a mirror image of himself. Dark hair and eyes, sturdy build. 

Somewhere along the way, as years passed, and his assignments became more dangerous, the scars on his soul more vicious, and harder to tell the nightmares from the missions, the idea of having a son faded. 

He lost Riley because of his penchant for anger. For solving problems with violence. Defending her, trying to protect her made him a monster in her eyes. Her tears, her horror; he shattered her heart, and his own in the process. He scared her with his dark side. He couldn’t do that to another child.

He couldn’t risk the idea of another child peering into his soul and seeing the demons living there. 

He let go of the dream of dark eyes that mirrored his own, staring up at him in wonder and excitement. 

It would spring to life occasionally. Holidays at home and watching his sister’s kids growing up. When Sarah waltzed into his life and turned his world upside down. He let himself dream, and imagine and nurtured a sprig of hope that had remained dormant for so long. 

It never lasted. Choked out by the depravity he witnessed every day, and the destruction he wielded in his attempts to stop it. 

He couldn’t bring a child into this kind of life. He was getting older, he’s not sure he’d have the energy to chase after a toddler. 

He’s not gentle enough to soothe their hurts. 

He can’t chase away the monsters in their dreams or in their closets when he’s been the source of nightmares for others. When he's been the monster hiding in the darkness.

A rattling cough shakes the couch, dispersing the quiet of the house. Jack grimaces at the harsh barking sound, his chest aches in commiseration. He runs his fingers through the damp hair of the blond head nestled on his lap.

The coughing continues. Mac gasps between each shuddering explosion. He struggles to sit up, to draw fresh air into his abused chest. 

Jack supports him, arms around his shoulders as he swings his feet to the floor, hunched over his knees, trying to catch his breath. 

Mac pulls in shaky breaths, his whole body trembling with exhaustion and exertion. Chills rocking him. 

Jack brushes sweaty hair back from Mac’s forehead, glancing at his watch. “Think it’s time for some more cough syrup.”

“No,” Mac rasps with look of distaste.

“It’ll make you feel better.”

Mac wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“You ain’t supposed to sip on it. Take it like a shot. Down the hatch with a juice chaser.”

“I’m fine,” he croaks, and Jack cringes at the sound of his raw throat.

“Bet you ain’t even rockin’ a fever either, kiddo,” Jack facetiously agrees. 

“No,” Mac says with a glare. 

Jack sighs and rubs a hand through his own hair, further messing his already drooping fauxhawk. Ignoring Mac’s frown. The glare as he measures out a dose of cough syrup, and checks to make sure there’s still juice in the cup on the coffee table. 

“Listen up, bud, you’re taking a dose of this cold medicine. You can have it here, or I can take you into medical and you can have it there. I don’t much care which way you want to do this, but seeing how it’s two in the morning, I think we’d all find it more pleasant to do this here.”

“It doesn’t help,” Mac mutters.

“You slept for almost four hours, hoss, until it wore off and the coughing jag woke you up again.”

It never occurred to him that his son would come bursting into his life, fully formed and twenty years old, looking for a fight. Full of his own hurts and scars and demons, convinced that he was unworthy of love or a family. Holding his broken pieces together with the duct tape, chewing gum and paperclips that he uses to fix all the broken things in his life. 

Mac is his opposite in nearly every way. Skinny as a rail, blond and fair. Always thinking. A slow shy smile that needs to be coaxed to his lips. 

But his blue eyes mirror Jack’s dark ones. Hurt hidden in their depths, eyes that have seen too much death and destruction. 

Mac reaches out for the small measuring cup. A frown on his face, eyes reddened and pouting. 

His hand is hot as it brushes against Jack’s skin. Jack covers the shaking hand with his own, steadying Mac’s grip.

Mac swallows down the thick red syrup with a dramatic gag that would make Jack smile if the kid didn’t look so miserable. He helps Mac take a few sips of juice. 

“You want to go to bed?” 

Mac shakes his head, still frowning. 

“Alright,” Jack says as he brushes Mac’s bangs back from his forehead. His fever still running hot, pricking against Jack’s hand. “Come on, lie back down here.” He helps Mac scoot back onto the couch, resting his head in Jack’s lap again.

It’s a good thing Mac came into his life as an adult, Jack thinks as he brushes a kiss against Mac’s temple. 

Jack’s heart might have actually burst in his chest if Mac had been his as a child. 

  
  



End file.
